The Victor's Daughter
by Heyitsm
Summary: President Snow wants her dead. The Capitol is hungry for the blood of the daughter of the Star crossed lovers of district 12. When a viscous Quarter Quell twist designed by President Snow lands Sierra Mellark in the games, How will she survive? Who will live and who will die? Only one will come out of the games alive.


I wake up in my warm bed in the victors village cocooned by blankets. I am drawn out of bed by the aroma of freshly baked vanilla cake and waffles - my favorites. I smile. I stumble downstairs half asleep and find my Father, Peeta Mellark frosting elegant flowers in beautiful shades of blue on a vanilla cake. He doesn't notice me for a moment, focused on making each petal delicately flawless. I sit there and tentatively watch for a second until He notices me. "Oh, You're up early Sierra!" He says sounding surprised. I normally do sleep in when I can. "Good morning, Sweetie. Happy Birthday!" He says and hugs me and I realize the special occasion - April 3rd, My 15th birthday. I forgot my own birthday. My mother, Katniss Mellark walks in with two neatly wrapped gifts. One with sleek black wrapping paper and a shiny gold ribbon tied around it, The other a small velvet navy blue box with a nice white ribbon tied around it. I decide to open the black box first, and I hate to unwrap it because its just so pretty. Its a beautiful hand-made box and a full sheath of arrows. I gasp because I've wanted to learn to shoot since before I could toddle. They said I was too young, I had tried making them out in the woods but I'm less than gifted with wood working so even my very best efforts were sloppy. And thats a rather generous assessment. "Thank you." I say overcome with excitement. "You're welcome, Happy Birthday." She replies. As I begin to open the other present I notice Haymitch passed out on the floor clutching a half crudely wrapped box and a knife, a half empty liquor bottle on the floor beside him. I don't question the familiar sight. "Haymitch.." I sigh. My mother fills up a pitcher of ice water and dumps it on His face as always. He awakens in a panic, yelling, grunting and thrashing his knife around. He eventually comes to his senses. "Why do you do that?" He snarls at her. She rolls her eyes. "Wake up you filthy drunk!" She yells at him, but she doesn't mean it. Disgusting acoholic or not, Haymitch is family. Always will be. He then groggily hands me the liquor bottle proudly. My dad shoots him an angry look and Haymitch raises an eyebrow. He finally realizes he gave me the half empty liqour bottle by mistake. "Uhh.. I think I've made a mistake. Umm, Here." He awkwardly says handing me the box and I give him back the liqour bottle. I open it and find a live baby goose that reeks of liqour and body odor honking and gasping for air. Not well thought out, but admittedly pretty adorable. I go and wake up my groggy unwilling brother, Eden while Haymitch situates the goose. Eden staggers downstairs, eyes still closed. "Good morning, Eden." Says my Dad. As we eat breakfast, the television turns on automatically. "Must be a mandatory announcement or event." She mutters under her breath. Her eyes widen as she sees president Snow on the screen. "The reading of the card?" I ask. She nods. The next hunger games will be the fourth quarter quell. A little capitol girl with blonde hair dyed pale pink at the tips and meticulously curled, She wears a bizarre almost feathery pale pink dress. She has a very old mahogany wooden box and she hands it to President Snow. He precisely pulls out a yellowed envelope labeled '100' and slides out a small piece of paper. "Citizens of Panem, The time has come to announce a new and exciting twist for the 4th quarter quell. " He says. Its disturbing how young he looks, as if He is frozen in time. I wonder when his rain of terror will end. He has had some work done, and is still finely dressed as ever with a single white rose. "As a reminder to the rebels that their children are dying because of their actions, this year's tributes shall be reaped from the pool of children of the victors." The crowd cheers, anthem, seal and its done. Haymitch doesn't have any children.. My father's arms wrap around me and His hands cover my ears. My Mother's face flushes with shock, horror, terror, and most of all a boiling rage threatening to spill over. She starts screaming and I vaguely hear things about the capitol, but very muffled by His hands. Once She settles down and stops screaming, She slumps down in her chair, exausted. He removes his hands and what has just happened sinks in. My face becomes pale. I am drained of blood and emotion. I am too stunned to cry. I try to scream, but my lungs betray me. I should be braver. I should be stronger. I am the daughter of two victors and veterans and I have nothing to show for it. I need to be strong, but I just can't. I cave in. I only manage to get out an exasperated "H..H-How?" My Mother walks over to comfort me. I bury my face in my hands. My parents are trying to comfort me unsuccessfully. I notice a slight dampness on my shoulder. I look up and see my Mom shoot him an angry look and He steps away. "I'll be right back, I think I left a batch of cookies in the oven at the bakery by mistake.." He says shakily, then runs out the door. Reassuring comments follow, even Haymitch has a few drunk words of comfort. But they make only negative impact on me. Because I know that they are soothing me into death. He returns five minutes later, eyes puffy and red from sobbing. He is grieving my death. This isn't good. Why is this happening? Why is He crying when I'm not even in the arena yet? I ask myself, but I know why. "You forgot to open your other gift, Sierra." My Mom reminds me, placing the little box in my lap. I open it and gasp in shock. Its Her mockingjay pin. Its beautiful. She smiles, looking somewhat amused. "Are you sure you want me to have this?" I ask. She nods, closing my hand around it. "You'll need it." She says. I disect her words 'You'll need it.' What exactly did she mean by that? This question haunts me. I ponder what horrors await me in the arena. I can't stay cooped up in my room with these things weighing on my mind. I head out to the woods outside district 12. I wriggle under the remarkably unchanged fence. I literally smash into my best friend Mason. "Sorry!" He says awkwardly with a nervous tone in his voice. "Its fine." I say flatly, trying desperately to hide my emotions. I try to avoid His gaze, but my efforts are futile. Our eyes meet, those big gray seam eyes peering deeply into my soul. "What's wrong?" He asks, concerned. "I'm fine, Mason." I insist. "Nothing is wrong, look I really have to-" He cuts me off. "Yes there is, Sierra. Whats bothering you? You can tell me." He says. I wish I could, but I can't. He doesn't know I'll be going into the arena. I ignore Him and start to walk home. He stops me and accidentally pulls me into His arms and for some stupid reason, I blush. He blushes too. "Uhh.. Sorry!" He says nervously. I awkwardly shove him away. "Whats wrong? Please tell me." He asks, sounding increasingly concerned. "I'm fine, Mason." I say, irritated. "Can we please just hunt and enjoy a day in the woods?" I ask. He glares, unconvinced. His eyes read 'I know you're lying, but I'll drop it.'. He nods. We trek through the woods in silence. I ocassionally glance back, He looks puzzled and worried. Eventually the silence breaks. "Did you hear about the twist for the fourth quarter quell?" He asks nonchalantly. I feel a lump form in the back of my throat. My hands tremble and sweat a little. "Y-yeah.." I choke out, on the verge of a mental break down. "I hate the capitol.." He grumbles. My eyes widen. "Shhh!" I say holding a finger to my lips. You just can't openly say things like that, at least not anymore. A man was executed publicly just a few days ago for suggesting we stop watching the games. The smell of blood and roses floods my nose just as I think of that. I wonder if He is watching me right now. I start to shake. My pupils dilate in fear. A steady hand grabs my shoulder. "You okay, Sierra?" Mason asks. "Yeah.. I was just thinking of something." I mutter. "Lets just keep going." I'm disgusted in how I'm handling this but I ignore it. I'm a mess. I finally start to relax and have a nice time. We talk, laugh, hunt, set snares, gather and I almost feel as close as I can get to happy right now. We wind up at the lake my Grandfather used to take my Mother when she was little. We decide to have lunch at the lake. We sit in a nice shady spot under a tree. I spread out the contents of my game bag and we eat. He leans in a little and says barely above a whisper "I don't think anyone can hear us now, do you?". "I don't think so either." I say with a smile. "So, Whats on your mind?" I ask. "The games, the Capitol.." he trails off, then lowers his voice and says "A 3rd rebellion.." My eyes widen at the thought of what they would do to us if someone heard that. But we can be executed any day for trespassing outside district 12 and poaching. I shove my anxiety to the side and say "Me too." "Really?" He asks. "Really. It weighs on me a lot..." I say vaguely. The topic is lighter eventually. We eat, laugh and mock the capitol, with their ridiculous accents. Really everything in the capitol is pretty ridiculous. He picks me up and throws me into the lake playfully. I surface and scream "Not funny!" although its pretty unconvincing considering I'm laughing my head off. "Now will you help me out?" I gripe, now scowling. "Sure." He laughs. He stretches his arm out and I grab his hand and yank him in. "Hey!" He yells. I laugh so hard I almost choke. I'm interrupted when he splashes me. "Oh, its ON now, Mason!" I shout jokingly. "Bring it!" He yells, laughing. We get into an all out splash fight. He eventually gives up and we stumble out of the water up onto the bank, drenched and water-logged. We sit. "Next time we're out here, I want a rematch!" He says between laughs. "I'll be happy to beat you anytime we're out here." I say, smirking. We realize the time and start walking back. We check our snares we set on the way and hunt and gather a little on the way back. We end up with a good haul, 3 rabbits, 5 squirrels, about half a gallon of berries, and a few handfuls of roots we gathered. My parents are probably worried sick by now, so I tell mason to go to the hob and trade without me. I rush back to the victors village. I hear indistinct talking, and catch my name. I slide up against the wall and tune in the murmuring the best I can. They're discussing the games. I manage to get in a few clear sentences; "Oh my God!" "They won't last five minutes in the games, Peeta!" "How can we even attempt to prepare them?" "Shes as good as dead, sweetheart." My heart sinks. Are they right? Probably. They have survived the games twice. But I'm still not going down without a fight. I take a deep breath and swing the door open and find my parents and Haymitch sitting around the kitchen table. "There you are. I was starting to get worried. Where were you?" My Dad asks. "We were worried you might have ran away." Say my Mom. "Oh, no. I was just in the woods trying out my new bow." I say, still rattled from what I had heard. They exchange glances. I sit down and nibble on a cheese bun anxiously. My mother sighs. "Sierra, We need to talk to you. Its about the hunger games." She says with an edge of dread in her voice. The thought sickens me, but I nod and tentatively listen. "We love you and know you can win," She says, and you can tell by the shakiness of her voice that she doesn't believe what shes saying. I don't believe her either, but I decide to humor them. "So we're going to prepare you. I'll teach you how to shoot and climb and things like that." She says. "And I can teach you survival skills." Haymitch adds in a slurred voice. But Dad stays silent. I guess a baker with a fake leg who spent most of both his games flirting probably won't very useful to train me to kill, but will a filthy drunk be anymore help? "We will begin tommorow morning." She says flatly and almost grimly. I walk into the living room and sink into a soft plush capitol chair and slip deeply into my thoughts. By the time I'm mentally exausted its dinner time but I have no appetite, so I just go upstairs and try to get some rest. Even in the soft Capitol-designed duvet sleep doesn't come easily. That night I dream I'm in the clock arena my parents told me about. I'm frantically running through the jungle away from the deadly fog. It catches up with me and I collapse in the sand. As the fog passes over me the smell of blood and roses overwhelms me. It thickens in front of me and President Snow materializes. He gently pulls my chin up, forcing me to stare into his cold, black serpent-like eyes. I want to scream or fight back, but the malicous fog burns my throat and paralyzes me. "What's the matter, Miss Mellark?" He says vicously. He takes a sharply thorned white rose and begins to slice my face off while I lie there helplessly. He then forcefully throws my limp head down and walks down the beach laughing maniacally and disappears into the fog. I realize he dropped his rose. I lie there and wait for death, watching that white rose become red with my blood. I realize my real enemy is not the game-makers, nor the tributes. It is President Snow, The same one that menaced my Mother and now me, the one that murders 23 children each year, the one who sits there obsessing over his roses while His people starve. The single white rose is now drenched in blood, and then I find only darkness. And very distantly, I hear a cannon go off. The sound rings in my ears as I awaken screaming, out of breath and drenched in sweat. My Dad stumbles hastily into my room with a puzzled expression. "What happened?" He asks, half-asleep but still very alarmed. "I- I'm fine, it was just a nightmare. Go back to sleep." I mutter. "Are you sure you're okay? Its not like you to wake up screaming like that." He says, putting an arm around me. "Yes, I'm fine. I promise." I say groggily. "Okay, come get me if you need anything." He mumbles then walks out of my room. I slump back in my bed and try to get comfortable. I never fall asleep that night. Instead I lie awake in a puddle of sweat thinking. Around 8am I hear foot steps and make a half-hearted attempt to pretend to be asleep to avoid worrying anyone. I open my eyes to shockingly find Haymitch standing over me. "Haymitch?" I say, baffled that he woke up before noon. "Yeah." He grumbles. He seems sober and looks really unhappy. Withdrawal symptoms, probably. "Peeta made you sober up?" I ask. He nods, rubbing his temples. "Just get downstairs, kid." He mutters. I pull on a maroon shirt and sturdy black pants and braid my long blonde hair. I walk down the steps. My Mom and Haymitch are sitting at the table while my Dad makes breakfast. My brother is still asleep. We eat our omelets in awkward silence until my Mom breaks it. "Sierra, we have to discuss the games sometime." She says grimly. "And winning strategies." Haymitch adds. I nod "I know.." I reply. "Maybe it would be helpful to watch.. Our games." My Dad says. "I agree." She says. "So today I'm going to watch your hunger games?" I ask. They nod. I dread watching them. I've always hated watching the games, but its mandatory. I always hated the trip to the capitol for the games, only this time, I won't be watching. I sink into the couch and start with the 74th hunger games - the first games my parents were in. All of the tributes are intimidating, but one I find particularly menacing. Cato, of district two. I have to admit, He's almost handsome. But looks are very is a brutal murderer. Tall, strong and vicous, with that murderous glint in his blue eyes that most careers share. Everything from the bloodbath to his gory end deeply disturbs me. My mind wanders to strange places. Like how long it might take for Marvel's spear or Cato's sword to cut deeply and irreversibly into my heart. Different ways different tributes may have ended my life and who would be my allies. A few moments really stick in my mind; The bloodbath, the cave, the tracker jackers, and most of all, the end. The arrow that meant victory and the mutts of the deceased tributes. They cut out the part where she pulled the berries. I pop in the tape labeled '75th Hunger Games - Unknown Victor.'. Much of it is edited out because of the rescue. When I see the arena, I cringe. Its exactly like they said it was. A clock of death - each hour bringing new horrors and ticking away your life. Thick, hot blood rain, Jabberjays whose screams mimic the pained cries of your loved ones, a horrible deadly fog like the one in my nightmares, lightning, a tidal wave - Just a few of the game-makers' cruel weapons. It disgusts me how quickly and thoughtlessly they kill innocent people for their entertainment. It cuts off when they set the electrical trap, which is around when my Mother destroys the forcefield and they are rescued. By the time the games are over its 2pm and I decide to go out to the forest and soak in what I just watched. I dash off and hastily run into the woods without checking to see if the fence is electrified. I clear my head. I hunt, gather and set snares. By the time I'm tired I have a really good haul - 5 rabbits, 10 squirrels, 2 wild turkeys, a bunch of roots, and 3 pints of berries. I have plenty of money so I give my game to the starving people in the seam, and sometimes Greasy Sae's granddaughter. Nice girl, she took over when Sae died. She still isn't quite right in the head, but she understands the concept of money and makes a decent soup so she's gotten by alright. I pass her some squirrel meat and she nods gratefully and tosses it into the pot. I give the rest to some people in the seam who looked like they needed it. I cut through the woods to the victors village. Exausted, I go directly to bed. The next few months are a blur of eat, training, sleep. 


End file.
